


gentle as

by junkverse



Series: trans skate boys [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Transphobia, Internalized Transphobia, M/M, Trans Male Character, brief use of slurs, post S1, trans Viktor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 22:29:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9260750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junkverse/pseuds/junkverse
Summary: Viktor has a nightmare. Yuuri helps him with the aftermath.





	

Viktor doesn’t bolt upright out of bed, like people do in the movies. But he feels a jolt all the same as he breaks out of the depths of sleep and into the cold air of wakefulness. His hands are shaking, and not just because the apartment is a little chilly. 

Viktor breathes in, shuddering, curling in on himself as the memory of the nightmare plays through his head. It’s losing its edges already, but-

Viktor shudders again, bringing a hand up to scrub at his eyes, pinch the bridge of his nose. He looks up at the alarm clock by the bed. 3:15. Still a long while before either him or Yuuri have to get up. 

But it’s not like he’s going to go back to sleep anytime soon.

With a groan, Viktor carefully gets up from the bed, fishes around around for a fresh set of sweatpants. He slips them on, and tiptoes out of the bedroom, towards the kitchen. 

The apartment is cozier, less clinical and catalogue-perfect, now that Yuuri’s been here awhile. Some of his keepsakes are on the walls, a few of his books have found places among Viktor’s collection. A small player piano that Viktor’s had for ages is showing signs of use for the first time in years -crinkled pages of sheet music on the rack, faint fingerprints on the keys. Normally the little reminders of Yuuri’s presence cheer Viktor, make him feel lighter, but right now he’s a little too conscious of how ominous and strange the shadows seem, how every errant noise seems too loud.

He flicks on the kitchen light, the fluorescents stuttering for a moment before snapping to life. The cabinets and counter tops are gleaming, save for some scuff marks here and there from use. Pans hang over an island in the kitchen’s center, shining silver and copper in the sharp light. The tile is cold under his feet. It grounds Viktor a little.

Viktor retrieves a mug and a tin containing bags of his favorite tea from the cabinets, fetches the kettle from its place by the stove. Mug and tea are set aside as he fills the kettle and sets it on the stove, turning the heat to high. Viktor pulls a stool away from the kitchen island, sits down, and waits.

It’s been awhile since Viktor has had nightmares. They’d started not long after his senior debut, and they’d mostly petered off in the past year, but… Viktor rubs at his eyes again. Even back when they’d been regular he couldn’t recall the nightmares being quite this… vicious, personal. 

Viktor sighs, pressing the heel of his palms against his eyes until he sees starbursts, trying to will the vestiges of the dream away. Maybe it’s just because it’s been awhile, but this nightmare-

“Viktor?”

He looks up, peering out from behind his hands.

Yuuri is standing at the threshold of the kitchen, one of their lighter blankets drawn around his shoulder like a cape. His glasses are on, but he’s squinting, blinking blearily in the brightness of the kitchen lights.

“What’re you doing up?” Yuuri asks, rubbing absently at one of his eyes, the motion nudging his glasses askew.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Viktor says. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

Yuuri shakes his head, shuffling over to Viktor and giving him a peck on the cheek. “Bed was colder without you, is all. What kept you up?”

Viktor hesitates. “Bad dream.”

Yuuri nods sympathetically. He takes off the blanket, and carefully drapes it around Viktor’s shoulders. He notices the kettle on the stove.

“Tea?”

Viktor nods. “There should be enough water for you to make a cup, if you like.”

Yuuri hums, going to retrieve his own mug and tea from the cabinets. The kettle is boiling by the time he has them in hand; Viktor watches as Yuuri prepares tea for them both, taking time to put a little honey in Viktor’s. He passes Viktor his mug before leaning back against the countertop, blowing at his tea to cool it down.

“So,” Yuuri says. “What was the dream about?”

Viktor swallows, a bitter taste in his mouth that has nothing to do with the tea. He folds in a little, half-hoping the blanket will hide him.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Yuuri says, gently.

“I know,” Viktor says.

“But it might help.”

Most of the details of were fading now, bleeding into one another like too-thin ink, leaving only a wash of lingering hurt and fear. But some of it is still clear, sharp, stinging. Like jagged ice against skin. Viktor grips the mug, watching steam curl away from him.

“I…was skating,” Viktor eventually says. “At first. But something was wrong. I don’t know what but I wasn’t… moving right. Steps were off, or something. And then you were there, but you weren’t right either, and-”

A snippet of memory: blades on the ice, fracturing, splintering. Hands on his neck, the faint taste of blood, and Yuuri, eyes hideously blank, mouth curled in a snarl-

“You called me ‘it,’” Viktor says in a small voice. 

Viktor doesn’t look up, but he hears Yuuri not quite gasp -a sharp inhale that almost sounds like a hiss. He hears Yuuri set his mug down on the counter and pad over to him, feels Yuuri draw him into a hug. Viktor reaches behind him to set down his own mug before burying himself against Yuuri’s chest, clinging to him. He breathes deeply, listens to Yuuri’s heartbeat as Yuuri rubs circles into his back. Viktor is shaking again, a few tears leaking and wetting Yuuri’s nightshirt, and he hates that something that isn’t real could make him feel so _weak_.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri says.

“Wasn’t you,” Viktor says, muffled against Yuuri’s shoulder. “Just… just my head.”

“But still.”

“Still,” he agrees.

Yuuri pulls away a little, his hand on Viktor’s cheek. He wipes a tear away with his thumb.

“You haven’t… heard that from anyone lately,” Yuuri says. “Have you?”

“Not since my first gold,” Viktor says. He smiles bitterly. “Medals tend to shut people up.”

Yuuri doesn’t say anything to that. But he hugs Viktor again -tightly, fiercely. He threads his fingers through Viktor’s hair, untangling and smoothing it, and Viktor sinks into the touch.

They stay like that for awhile -Viktor perched on the stool, his arms around Yuuri’s waist, Yuuri’s arms looped around Viktor’s shoulders. Slowly, slowly, Viktor feels himself relax, feels the last of the dream fall away, feels his eyelids droop. His back starts to complain at the odd angle he’s sitting, but Viktor doesn’t care much.

“Dunno why you put up with an old fag like me,” Viktor mumbles into Yuuri’s neck.

“Well, you’re pretty hot, as far as old fags go,” Yuuri says lightly. He brushes Viktor’s hair out of his eyes. “And young, for that matter.”

Viktor laughs, weakly. “Not disputing the fag part, I notice.”

“Eh. Takes one to know one.”

“Thought you liked girls?”

“Once or twice,” Yuuri says absently. “Mostly I like you.”

“Well, I’m not that different from a girl, so-”

“Stop,” Yuuri says with sudden fierceness. “You’re a man, and anyone who says different can kiss my ass.”

Viktor lifts his head away from Yuuri just enough that Yuuri can see his lopsided smile. 

“Even if that ‘anyone’ is me?” Viktor asks.

“Especially if that anyone is you,” Yuuri says. “Are you sure that someone hasn’t-?”

“No, no,” Viktor says. His head drops back to Yuuri’s shoulder. “It’s just… just a bad night.”

Yuuri sighs. He’s no stranger to bad nights, Viktor knows. Viktor’s helped him through more than a few (or tried to, at any rate.) It’s odd, and disconcerting, to be on the other side of things. To be the one that needs help.

“You know,” Yuuri says, slowly, “if you do feel like a girl-”

“I don’t,” Viktor says, feeling nauseous at the very idea. “Never.”

“Okay, it’s okay,” Yuuri says. He’s rubbing circles into Viktor’s back again. “I was just… I’m with you, no matter what, okay?”

Viktor nods, sniffles. “I know. I know.”

They lapse into silence again. Eventually Yuuri loosens his grip, kissing Viktor on the forehead, his cheek, his lips. Viktor sighs into the touch. Yuuri tastes faintly of tea; he smells like home.

“Now,” Yuuri says, “finish your tea, and come to bed. We’ve got a little while before we have to be up.”

Viktor nods. The tea is cool enough now that he downs it in a few gulps. Yuuri finishes his own tea and clears away their mugs before taking Viktor by the hand and leading him back to their bedroom. Soon, they’re both under the covers again, Viktor curled up against Yuuri, his head resting on Yuuri’s chest. 

“Love you,” Yuuri says.

“Love you, too,” Viktor says. He closes his eyes.

Viktor doesn’t have any more bad dreams. Not that night, at least. They’ll come back, eventually, as they always do.

But Yuuri is with him. And he’ll be there for all the other long nights, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Oof, another bit of writing that happened on a whim and ate up a good chunk of my day. The idea popped into my head not long after finishing "Be a Body," and it just wouldn't leave me alone.
> 
> Again, this was written in an attempt to sort out some of my own feelings about being trans. This one ended up being a little more... dour than the first. Not what I expected, but it is what it is.
> 
> Title is from the song of the same name by Elbow, from the album _Whisper Grass_. It has nothing to do with the fic, but I needed a title and it's a good song, besides.
> 
> Feedback is appreciated, and thanks for reading.
> 
> (you can also find me over on [twitter](https://twitter.com/junkverse))


End file.
